Instead of a cycle of movements which characterizes the other
Star Cycle
compositions
for solo instruments, one might best think of m4 as something more
like a set of frames.
Frames are what I think of a 'windows' on, or snap shots off, different qualities
of
musical movement. In this regard, frames are rather shorter and more
fragmentary
than movements, but at the same time are more suited for exploring a wider
diversity
of new ideas. One might think of them literally as a collection of photos
from a wild
place which are tossed as it were upon the performance table. We see a new
species
of plant here, an outline of a fearsome animal there, even perhaps a hint
of free running
white water. So in a way, one can pick up any frame or window one feels attracted
to and
set to work.

The first frame of m4 featured here introduces the set with a wildly
fast and rugged
stream of musical figures which unfolds within a non-stop, forward-driving
tempo.
There is a marked contrast between the complexity of what one hears, on the
one
hand, and the relative simplicity of the notation on the other. This is because
we heara stream of serpentine movement, moving in unexpected ways over the entire
instrument.
But the notation slows this down, so to speak, visually, by using a neutral
4/4 meter
to structure the whole, which, although it does not change, isvery
fast. The quarter
note here equals 150 beats per minute. This means that the temporal
resolution
the performer must deal with here is very high in deed, as is the
density at an
average of about 10 sounds per second (Sps). Besides its simplicity,
the great
advantage of this style of notation is that one can begin very slowly and
gradually
with practice work on getting the tempo faster and faster while at the same
time
not sacrificing any rhythmic precision.

About the rhythmical
ground of change

This first frame of m4 is based on a very general, and, to my way
of looking at
musical movement, important concept, ie, that of a rhythmical ground. The
basic
idea here is this:

underlying all movement is a kind of implicit, non-manifest, generative
ground which contains within it all possible details of rhythmic pulsation.

Briefly, the sketch below shows all these pulses as we might think of them
(or hear them) going on at the same time.

The dominant stream is the red one, in the middle; it is notated
in groups of four fast, steady pulses.

Above and below this red layer is a stream of 5 and 6(faster),
and 3 and 2(slower).

Now, what happens in the course of the music is that the 4-stream from
time to time flips out of its groove and runs a 5 or 6, or slips and steps
into a slower 3 or 2.

The image of movement in the natural world this calls to mind is perhaps
that of running a fast-flowing stream in a raft. We flow along constant
for a while, then encounter eddies and whirlpools, hit rocks,
stretches of slower water, and what not.

Here is what a sketch the rhythmic ground might look like:

And here is a sketch of a single stream emerging from the ground,
pulsing in 4's with one faster group of 5's:

And here is a sketch of a more complex stream, getting faster and slower around
the steady stream of 4's:

And lastly, this is how the above sketch looks after converted into musical notation:

The key musical or rhythmic feature here—the shape of the music's change—
is a smooth, continuous 'getting faster' and 'getting slower'. The music does this
in a necessarily very precise way, moving in steps until the tempo or speed of the
basic meter is doubled, then doubled again, and again. Or vice versa: halved and
halved again, and so forth. This is directly analogous to singing or playing a sliding

tone—a so-called glissando—from one pitch to another one an octave higher, and
so on. That's why I call these doublings of tempo octaves. Here's a sketch of the
cycle of relationships. (Mathematicians, among whom I unfortunately do not include
myself, will notice, to use their language here for a moment, a fractal-like iterative
function at the root of this pattern of movement, with self-similar relationships at
differences of scale. The key remains, however, that it sounds beautiful, much as if
the graceful spirals of ferns had been translated into sound.(see photo/miniature:metaphor) This phrase—self-similar relationships at a differences of scale—is an
important one to remember, I think. This is because it points to a simple yet powerful
way of looking at or thinking about both structure and movement in the future.):